Beyond the Veil
by StorytheBrave
Summary: Sirius Black was falling, he was sure of it. Thus begins Sirius' journey through the veil into the afterlife, and what it means to pass on.


"Beyond the Veil"

"I was within and without, simultaneously enchanted and repelled by the inexhaustible variety of life."

Sirius Black was falling, he was sure of it. While the blackness surrounding him did nothing to give away his location, he knew that he was about to land on something and _hard_. His mind was focused on the anticipated landing on the floor of whatever space he was in. The sensation reminded him of terrible nightmares involving a plummet from a broomstick, when suddenly he would wake up in bed, his heartrate beating against his sweat-beaded chest, more certain than ever that dreams could kill you.

But there was no end to this nightmare, just the tantalizing false-ending that he felt every second—no, millisecond. He was intermittently jerking himself back to awareness, as if he was about to fall asleep but he woke himself just in time. He realized how terrifyingly aware he was of his own mind, feeling as if he was viewing himself from outside; he was so acutely aware of everything: the wind _whooshing_ past him-

But there is no wind, he realized.

In fact, he now did not feel like he was falling at all, rather, he was descending. Yes, he recognized the-

No, that wasn't it at all.

He was floating. If he was going in a particular direction, he had no understanding of what that was, rather, he was suspended in a peaceful, non-dropping state. How could he have thought he was physically moving? Perhaps there was something to this, so he went as if to paddle himself with his arms; ingrained movements of a breaststroke began without his permission. Once he broke the surface, maybe he could find his way onto land-

But Sirius had not moved. The environment around his body did not change; he did not feel, as was expected, the cool relief of moving water break up the stagnant warmth he was submerged in. He concentrated, thinking that perhaps his mental conversation with himself caused a signal-mix up; that his arms had meant to move, but he was being too self-absorbed to actually _move_ his arms. But nothing happened. It was as if he had done nothing at all to change his situation; like he hadn't even had a thought to. Was his body injured in some way? Had he broken something when he was thrown into this pool, or whatever it was?

His world was still dark around him, not a shaft of sunlight or an unnatural replacement to help him, but maybe...

His wand had to be on him somewhere, perhaps in the broken arm? Or maybe in his cloak pocket, but he might be able to make something happen that would at least break up the endlessness of his current world.

 _"Lumos!"_ He ordered, and, for a second, he thought he saw the pale blueness of an ignited wand tip—but no, it was just his memory creating a false version of what he needed to happen in the real world.

 _"Lumos!"_ He said this even louder, as if the spell was supposed to do something grand. Again, the world remained pitifully dark.

 _"LUMOS!"_ He screamed the spell now, hoping against hope that his wand was just a little hard of hearing...

Nothing.

Frustration reared in him quickly, and he felt himself grow even hotter than the temperature of the fluid surrounding him.

"Why, why, _WHY_ am I here?" He asked anyone, anything that could hear him, help him.

He went to yell again, but reason caught him like a hand on the back of his collar. If he was underwater—or in any fluid whatsoever, how could he be speaking? How was it possible that he was not experiencing the sensation of holding his breath?

Cautiously now, as if there was suddenly an invisible limit on how many times he could open his mouth, he spoke, as if to someone across from him.

"Hello?" For one second, he thought that he felt water rush into his mouth, and suddenly it was like he could feel that assumed space flowing around his body. But, no, it was his mind recreating the memory of something to appease its terrified owner.

When he spoke, he realized it was just as if he was speaking in his normal life; there were no constraints or blockades stopping him.

"Hello?" He tried again, louder, feeling as if he was starting to unravel the answers he needed. "Is anyone around? I can't see where I am-" But he was broken off. A strange realization was settling upon him, as if he was remembering something from a long time ago, but somehow it was happening right now.

He was not speaking aloud. His mouth was not moving, nor his tongue. The familiar hallmarks of human speech were missing. This whole time _he had been thinking to himself_. His frustration became something dreadfully toxic as he saw the bars of his cage illuminate in his mind. He hadn't spoken aloud this whole time. This whole time? How long had he been here? Recalling the other moments of attempted speech, the search for his wand felt like days ago, like a mundane day slipping away unnoticed in a forgotten week. Didn't he just do that, though? Maybe he had been here for weeks? Months?

He felt himself becoming almost itchy with anxiety, as if there was something on the inside of his skin that needed to leave him so his could think in peace. He wanted to rub his eyes, run his hands through his hair-

Was he in his body?

The thought had bubbled so quickly to the surface of his worries that he couldn't catch it before he could think critically about it. The thought was gone from his subconscious, but he already knew the answer, and even if he could not audibly scream, he tried.

He was attached to nothing; his soul, or his mind—whichever—was floating in this space, and he was aware of it. He could think of nothing to compare it to; he was, for the first time, without a calming anecdote, or a way to make himself feel safe in this unknown territory. It was like Azkaban, perhaps, but without the grounding of his bones or skin to keep him tethered to a place.

That meant his body, his _life_ was over, but he had no clue how. Had Kretcher poisoned him? Had an angered Buckbeak trampled him in his sleep? He wasn't young, but he wasn't old. He had done nothing in his recent life that had threatened him with death. Was he dead, then? If he could not remember the cause?

But if he wasn't dead, was this worse? Was being just out of reach of the living world better than understanding the finality of it all, with an appreciation for the rules? If he wasn't dead, then he was suspended at the mercy of others, or at least, his body. What if he was bleeding out somewhere, his soul detached far enough that in a few moments the guillotine blade would come down, severing the present and the beyond?

No, no. If these were his choices, Sirius decided, he would rather this be death. He reasoned that he wasn't uncomfortable, and he, maybe, could just float away to wherever souls went.

 _But Harry..._ He didn't want to focus on the things he would leave behind, because if he was being honest, sometimes he wished for death, or at least a fight resulting in it, just so he could feel alive one last time. But where Harry was concerned is where all of Sirius' selfish and loathsome desires dissipated. Harry was the one thing that gave his life a bit of color, a bit of hope. By being in Harry's life, no matter how many times he wished he could take his place, he was contributing to James and Lily's legacy, to the good of something, rather than collecting dust. He would take imprisonment in Number 12 Grimmauld Place for the rest of his life if it meant he was still supporting Harry as a free man, and, hopefully, a deserving godfather.

James and Lily... If he was truly dead, they would be his only wish for the afterlife. His friends, so young, so unforgettable alive...would they be in this place with him? How would he compare? Dusty and weary compared to two people at the height of their lives...

Suddenly, he wanted, more than anything, to be young again, at least in appearance. He realized it was a petulant request of the afterlife, but he wanted to greet his old friends at the same age. Then, at least, he was getting something he wanted out of this life, if you could even call _this_ existence life.

It was as if he breathed them there, they appeared so soundlessly. Were they truly there, or was it like his attempts to cast a spell or swim? Was his memory simply bending to his last wishes? But he couldn't care less, because for the first time in fourteen years, he was looking at his best friend, as alive as anything.

"James." He said—or thought—this as soon as he saw the figure materialize in front of him. Without realizing it, he had stopped floating. He had no way of testing this, but he just knew, because James was walking up to him as if they were meeting in a corridor at school.

"I knew you would go younger," James chuckled as he examined the form of his best friend. Sirius had no clue if he was truly a body again, or if it was just an illusion from James' point of view.

"I only ever feared old age, and, sadly, it did not fear me." Sirius couldn't help but laugh too. He had been attempting a philosophical opener, but James could see through this façade.

"So, you couldn't just do your own thing, even after _fourteen years_. I thought my passing might give you a chance at individuality, but alas, you were just _dying_ to be like ol' Prongs." Sirius felt his face—or whatever his mind was convincing him was his face—crack into a smile.

"Absolutely terrible, mate."

"I've been saving it just for you, so you have to appreciate that I've kept from using it." James continued to gaze at his friend. Sirius, so caught up in the sadness and happiness of it all, realized that Lily was standing next to James, quietly watching the interaction. She was still so wonderfully beautiful; her presence causing Sirius to calm down for, perhaps, the first time in a long time.

"Is he wonderful?" Lily did not have to say the name, Sirius felt as if every thought not actively being concentrated was on that boy, wherever he was.

"Even more than that."

"He needed you."

"And I've left him alone. Again. What a terrible thing to know." Sirius, while aware that nothing could change the fact that he was dead, wished deeply that he could say he was sorry to Harry, even if he wasn't at fault for anything. He had only been in the boy's life for two years, the first as an escaped prisoner, and the second being his depressed godfather, childish and selfish in his isolation.

"Sometimes I believe we cursed our own child, Sirius." Lily said this so softly, it seemed to drift to Sirius as if it was an owl feather.

"How can you say that? You gave him everything, and he knows that, too-" Sirius felt a flash of anger, an uncommon reaction to anything Lily had ever said to him. She held up her hands-instantly Sirius was silent.

"I only mean that he has been left alone so many times, with a task too heavy for any boy to have. It's like we put all our terrible hopes and dreams upon a baby, and now he is destined to fulfill us, regardless of the price. I want to communicate with him, tell him that I want him to be a child first, to experience life the way that we did." Lily, still speaking so softly and calmly, fell silent, as if there was no way to cleanse her guilt, as if her penance for life was to live in the cycle of regret.

"I think I was with him when I died..." Sirius desperately wanted to remember, but it could have been a memory from another life completely. "I think I was at the Ministry of Magic, and Harry was there too..." As if his memories were being siphoned into a Pensieve, he was forcing them to stay put, just for now, just so he could offer something to Lily and James.

"Harry at the Ministry? But he's only fifteen, Sirius" Lily, always practical, broke Sirius' concentration.

"I'm sure I was with him, I thought I heard him scream-"

"Don't force yourself, mate." James said this softly, a hint of clenched sadness in his tone. Sirius had never really known his friend as a father, less as a father who had lost his son.

"You're right...maybe it'll come to me." Sirius dropped Lily and James from his sight. The conversation dropped away like a pebble in a stream. When Sirius looked up again, James and Lily were a distance away, fading away into the blackness.

"James! Lily!" Sirius called out to them, but the darkness swallowed them up, and the interaction seemed to fall away as if it had taken place long ago; as if Sirius had been speaking to himself only.

Frantically, he willed whatever form he was into to move; to do something that might change where he was-

He was seeing an archway, but it couldn't be the same one...because the one he remembered had a cloth over the entrance, this one had a door.

It loomed towards Sirius, until he was a breath away, and as if borne by a wave he could not see, or by a hand he did not know, he was passing through it. A cold, fast wind passed by him, making him feel distinctly hollow and, strangely, nervous. He felt as if he was forgetting something...something he needed to find...

He was passing through the archway when he heard something. As if in a tunnel, he heard voices, faded, strangled voices, but voices all the same...it was like the first recollection of life when waking from a deep sleep.

"SIRIUS! SIRIUS!"

The voice broke through his world, shattering the nothingness. _Who was this "Sirius"?_ he wondered, as innocently as a child asking about the color of the sky. He had no desire to call back, only to stay and listen, as if eavesdropping on a conversation; not a flicker of concern for the voice yelling passed through him. The archway was pulling him forward, like a drain with the plug pulled out, but he kept listening.

"He can't come back, Harry. He can't come back, because he's d—" Someone was lost, gone. Another person was looking for this "Sirius."

"HE – IS – NOT – DEAD! SIRIUS!" This last call, a howl for someone dear echoed in his mind as the door opened and pushed him through, a bright light breaking through the opening, enticing him to a sunny day in a garden...

He hoped the voices found their Sirius, but he couldn't worry about that now...he must go on.


End file.
